Avenir Incertain
by BizzareDragon
Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.
1. A Most Unsettling Future

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.**

**Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.**

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**Chapter 1: A Most Unsettling Future**

A scream.

It was the only sound she heard- no wind, no creaking, no footsteps, no _breathing. _ Just a single, twisted, tormented scream. In fact, her hearing was the only sense that seemed to be working. Either it was pitch black around her and she was floating or she just couldn't feel or see a thing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood, her knees grew weak, and the palpitations of her heart drummed loudly in her ears. This scream... It was so familiar. Her brain was working miles per minute trying to match that voice with its rightful face. She _must _have known it well for her stomach to clench and twist and threaten to force its contents back out into the open.

Suddenly, it was as if she were on an invisible train. Her body shot forward through the cold, stone inlaid hallway. Her head jerked back and she needed to clench her jaw to keep some composure. She watched as the hall became somewhat brighter, taking in the rocks that covered the floor of the hall, the rubble that sat high in dim corners, and the holes as deep as three feet that generously lined the walls. The place looked so familiar, and yet, so foreign to her.

The scream again. This time louder. Closer. More pleading?

Her heart beat heavily against her chest. She was sure it had grown three times its size, for it was restricting her air flow. With every weighted beat, it pounded against her lungs, making it harder to inhale; making her dizzy.

_Who was it?_

The better question was, did she even want to know?

Again the sensation of being sped through the building overcame her. Clearly she was going to get closer to whatever was causing her extreme discomfort whether she liked it or not. Her feet hadn't touched the ground once. Was this a dream?

She was reaching the end of the dark corridor. There was a light, however faint it was. She was moving faster, the walls and stones and darkness all one big blur around her.

And then she stopped. She saw it. Him. _Them_.

Her eyes grew wide, her breath came quickly, her throat was dry. Try as she might, she couldn't even shake her head.

Harry stood in the center right of the Great Hall. Around him were boulders and bodies- some she recognized as acquaintances, others she might have seen in passing. The house tables had been long forgotten, most of them a pile of wooden mess discarded in every direction, destroyed as though they were a house of cards. Harry clutched his side while blood flowed freely, lacing patterns around his fingers. The other hand held his wand and aimed it at a looming figure in the corner. With all of her efforts, she still could not turn her head to see who it was. She ground her teeth together in fear and frustration, and, for a moment, forgot to breathe.

She jerked as her body was thrown towards another figure.

She was standing, or perhaps _not _standing, less than six feet from Neville.

They were _his screams_. _ Neville's_.

Bellatrix Lestrange cast the Cruciatus again. She watched as his body twisted back for Merlin knew which time that night. Neville's head rolled back as his eyes bulged and his cheeks took on a nasty shade of purple. He clenched his jaw, then released another blood-curdling scream. His fists were balled as his entire body stiffened impossibly. Then, before she could look away-as if she even could if she had wanted to- she watched him relax for a split second until the curse snapped his body backwards. She heard his spine fracture. This small, fragile sound was almost drowned out by his deafening howl as his fingers uselessly tried to dig into the concrete beneath him.

Nausea overcame her. She felt her stomach boiling with poisonous heat. _No, no, no, no..._

But she couldn't speak. She couldn't move, cry, look away, and she certainly couldn't help.

Her body jolted backwards again, stopping at a new scene.

Ginny lay crumpled underneath a large pile of rubble. Her lower body was completely covered as she lay in a pool of her own blood. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes stared straight ahead at Harry. She struggled to breathe, struggled to cough up the blood that was quickly filling up her lungs, but never once looked away from Harry.

It happened again, the rushed sensation. This time it was to Hannah Abbott, who was lying on the cold ground, lifeless eyes looking up. Her abdomen and left thigh were completely torn open. Entrails and blood surrounded her.

Then to Tonks. It all happened so fast, she barely had time to register it all. Tonks cast a spell. A shield blocked it and sent it back. She blocked it. She sent another spell; a curse. Behind her, a death eater cast the most unforgivable of the Unforgivables. Someone shouted "Nymphadora" with so much love, desperation, and fear, and Tonks fell to the ground before the last syllable was spoken.

Her body lurched towards the voice that shouted Tonks' name. She stood no more than a foot away from Remus Lupin. Lupin watched her fall with wide, disbelieving eyes. He stumbled forward as though to catch her, but he was yards away. A mixture of blood and saliva dripped from the side of his mouth as his face distorted into such agony. This was the first time she had seen him cry. A clicking sound left his lips, one she was sure was an attempt at speaking. And then he lunged towards the death eater, screaming curses and spells. The lights from his wand made the room shine for only a moment before another death eater appeared behind him and snapped his neck like it was nothing.

She was moving quickly again. This time it was to Luna Lovegood, hunched over another body in her lap, sobbing heavily. Blood stained a section of her long hair and her jacket was torn in multiple places. She was even missing a sleeve. But that was no twhat was so unsettling. In Luna's lap was a motionless Ron.

All of the breath left her in an instant and she was sure she was going to faint. But whatever it was that prevented her from moving was also preventing her from missing a single second of this torture.

Ron.

Dead.

Once again she was thrown forward, but this time it was different. Everything was a blur and, though the pressure on her body was immense, she seemed to be moving in slow motion. Finally, she stopped.

Hermione could't even gasp as she stopped an inch away from _his_ face. The pale, ghastly features of the darkest wizard of her time stared right past her, as though she was a ghost. She no longer recognized her surroundings. The only things she registered was Lord Voldemort's alarming scowl mere centimeters from her face. In an instant, the pressure dissolved and she let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. Her body fell to the ground in front of him and she broke into heaving sobs. Her chest was twisting uncomfortably, her hands were shaking without cease, and her voice sounded as broken as her heart felt. She could hear her echoed cries pound against her eardrums, almost making her sick. In a fit of hysterics, she was suddenly lifted from the ground at an inhuman speed, barely catching her breath.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She blinked, wide-eyed and red faced as she looked shakily around the room at the confused and concerned eyes of her classmates. Half of them half-stood, while most of them leaned forward in their desks. Her eyes searched for no one in particular, just answers to the monumental confusion she felt. She didn't know what had happened or where she was. And then, as she locked eyes with a very familiar dark-haired boy in the front row of her Divination classroom, she felt her cheeks redden, her lip quiver, and her eyes gush with tears. Hermione fell to the ground and covered her face. There wasn't a sliver a shame in her as the emotions came rushing out in loud, heartfelt, hopeless sobs.

"Hermione!" Ron jumped from his seat. He threw an arm around her shoulder as his other hand lightly gripped one of the wrists the covered her face. "Hermione, what is it? _Hermione_!"

Harry quickly joined Ron in the front of the class, as did numerous other students, and looked up at Professor Trelawney, searching her eyes for answers, but the only answer he got was pure bewilderment on her part.

"W-well, I suppose... I suppose that con-concludes our lesson for the..." She cleared her throat. "...for the day. Class is... dismissed." Trelawney readjusted her glasses slowly, never letting her gaze stray from the crying girl in front of the crystal ball.

_What had she seen_?

The lesson for the day was supposed to be about seeing glimpses of one's future. Only small ones, naturally. Trelawney had recently done it herself and she had seen the future her in McGonagall's office returning a shawl. It was a very simple lesson with only small, near futures to gaze into.

But... what about Hermione's future? She had looked into the ball with a raised eyebrows and skepticism plastered on her face. Then, in an instant, a blank expression wiped away her doubt and she stared into the orb for no longer than eight seconds. What could she have possibly seen that scared her so?

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**Chapter one; complete! This will be a Tom-Hermione story, I swear. I just needed to set it all up before throwing her in the 1940s, you know? Anyway, I know it isn't much at the moment, and possibly not even worth a review, but it would still be appreciated if some kind reader could send some constructive criticism my way.**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	2. The Only Choice

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.**

**Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.**

**Also, just a side note- this takes place in their seventh year. I didn't want to knock off Dumbledore, so Severus never killed him. In fact, while not exactly in the story, Snape is still the same sneaky guy- he never made the deal with Narcissa to keep Draco safe and Draco's still a pansy-ass. But a handsome one.**

**ENJOY.**

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**Chapter 2: The Only Choice**

Hermione stood in front of the headmaster's office. The last two days had been awful ones, with lots of unwanted tears and most definitely a lot of unwanted attention. After a solid five minutes of continuously, and thinking back on it, embarrassingly, sobbing on the floor of the Divination classroom in front of the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs, Hermione finally let Ron and Harry practically carry her to their common room, sit her on the couch, and pry the information out of her. She was resistant at first, naturally. But with gentle strokes of her head and hands and with kind eyes and soothing voices, they managed to make her speak.

_"Do I have to tell you now?" She asked helplessly._

_Harry moved from his place on the carpet in front of her to the seat next to her, still holding tightly to her hand. He looked her in the eyes and nodded. "You can't keep this in. Not if it concerns your future. Not if you're this afraid of it. It's our business to make sure this particular future never sees light."_

_Hermione shook her head. "I understand, but... can't I just forget it for now? Can't I tell you in the morning when my head stops pounding?" But truthfully, there was no way Hermione would be able to forget the vision. Not even for a minute. Her mind revolved around it. Every so often, the harrowing face of the Dark Lord flashed before her eyes, whether they were closed or not._

_"'Mione, you _**_have_**_ to tell us. You'll worry yourself sick if you don't. It'll do you some good to talk about it, you know?" Ron's voice was soft and filled to the brim with concern._

_She clenched her eyes shut and squeezed Harry's hand. Another tear slipped through the outer corner of her eye and she quickly raised her arm to wipe it off. With a deep, shaky breath, she picked a spot on the carpet and barely whispered, "It was..._**_ him_**_."_

_Harry's brows furrowed. He looked at Ron, confused for a brief moment, before his eyes snapped back to Hermione in understanding. "Voldemort?"_

_She hadn't cringed at the mentioning of his name in years, but all of a sudden, she felt her stomach twist and her shoulders tense. "...yes."_

_"What... what about him, 'Mione?"_

_After a slight pause, she managed to avery her eyes off the stain in the carpet to Ron's wide eyes. "He was here, Ron. At _**_Hogwarts_**_. And... and you were all..." She looked from Ron to Harry and back again. She couldn't bring herself to say 'fighting', for really, it was only Harry of the two of them that... _

_She shook her head. "You were all there. The two of you, Luna, Ginny, T-Tonks. Lupin-" His name ended in a cracked sob. Hermione withdrew her hand from Harry's and covered her eyes. _

_Ron opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it._

_"Volde..." An unsteady exhale. "Voldemort was in the Great Hall. He was fighting _you_, Harry." She searched his eyes. "And everyone was around you, fighting the death eaters. Tonks... Tonks was... And Neville! Bellatrix kept... And Luna just _**_cried_**_." Harry's face was a blur as her tears built up and her words came tumbling out of her mouth, not really arranged in any full sentences. _

_"Hermione," Harry's voice was comforting as he pleaded with her. On the inside, he was panicking. But he needed her to calm down. "Listen to me." He took her face in his hands. "It was just something you saw. It didn't mean anything. Divination is a bunch of hogwash anyway, isn't it?"_

_"_**_Harry_**_. It wasn't my horoscope or some bloody tea leaves!" She realized she was raising her voice and for a moment she was very thankful they had the common room to themselves. "It was my _**_future_**_ I saw, just like anyone else. Susan Bones saw her uncle Edgar reading at his favorite bookstore. Fay Dunbar saw herself shadowing with an auror. Everyone had tiny little glimpses into their futures. Tiny _**_realistic_**_ glimpses. If their futures are to come true, what makes you think _**_mine_**_ won't? Just because it isn't-" She had to pause to catch her breath and swallow the lump forming in her throat. Her nostrils flared and her lower lip quivered dangerously. "Just because it isn't trivial, doesn't mean it isn't real."_

_Harry could feel the blood rush from his face._

_"Harry, I don't know what to do. It was my_**_ future_**._" She looked at Ron, grabbing his hand with both of hers. "_**_Our_**_ future."_

Hermione stared at the portrait covering Dumbledore's office. Her heart felt heavy, yet strangely empty at the same time. The night she told Ron and Harry about her vision, she laid sleeplessly in bed thinking about _everything_.

When would this happen? How did it come to this? Where was Dumbledore while the fighting went down? Where was _she_? Or was she simply not in the vision because she was _watching_ it?

The most important question-the one that she kept coming back to again and again-was, is there any stopping it?

_She tossed and turned most of the night as she tried to think of a way out. She could take her friends and convince them to flee the country. Or at least, flee Hogwarts. But no, it would still happen and he would still find them one day. They could tell the ministry? But who would believe a seventeen-year-old girl that saw a scary face in a crystal ball at school?_

_There was no way out of it. That future was bound to unravel._

_Well, she had thought that. At least until this particular morning when she was rummaging through her trunk, searching for a clean cloak. In a moment of dumb luck, her elbow slipped off of the side of the trunk and she had to bury her hand deep in the corner to steady herself. Her ring finger touched a cool chain and looped around it, lifting it out from the bottom of the trunk. She had found the time turner Professor McGonagall gave her four years prior._

_With a soft smile, really the first smile in days, she reminisced on a time where some of her largest concerns were her course-load and saving Buckbeak from a terrible beheading. She fingered the gold rings and brought the hourglass to her face. This small knickknack saved that ungrateful hybrid's life t_

_Slowly, her smile faded. Her fingers stopped rubbing the cool gold lining on the rims of the time turner as she cupped it in her palms. Her heart began to thump loudly in her chest. An idea was forming. It was very possibly that this idea was a stupid one and would never work, but... if there was any chance that it could... would she follow through?_

_Hermione stood quickly, holding onto the footboard as vertigo hit her. She tossed the time turner on the bed and closed her eyes until her vision cleared, then tore parchment from her desk drawer. In very sloppy handwriting, not bothering to make it anything more than legible, she scrawled a pleading message, signed it, and gave it to her owl. Just as it flew away, her face twisted as more tears fell. She grabbed hold of the windowsill and slid down the wall, taking deep, jagged breaths to calm herself. This time, however, it wasn't the feeling of doom and defeat that made her cry. It might have been the little spark of hope that was flittering in her chest._

And here she was now, standing at the headmaster's office. She felt her nerves flare up as she prepared to discuss this with Dumbledore. In fact, she was almost positive he wouldn't even think of considering her request, but... she needed to try. If what she saw in that wretched crystal ball- she shuddered- was indeed the future, there was no way around it. Whether it came easy or not, Hermione _would_ persuade Dumbledore to send her back; to try to fix everything. The present wasn't worth living in if she didn't have a future to look forward to.

"Pepper imp." She surprised herself how meek her voice sounded. The portrait hole swung open and she stepped inside.

Seated in his bright red robes, Dumbledore folded his parchment in two and set it aside. "Miss Granger."

She nodded politely, suddenly unsure how to speak English.

"I received your letter. It sounded... quite urgent. Please," He motioned to the tall chair beside his desk. "sit."

She did as she was told, but still couldn't find the right words. She needed him to listen; to understand; to agree with her and help her find a way to make her plan work. But for that, she needed to say the right thing. At this point, Hermione could barely make eye contact.

Dumbledore watched her ball her fists and look away. "I hear you had an unsettling experience in Professor Trelawney's classroom. Are you here to discuss what you saw?"

Hermione's eyes darted to his. He was subtly leaning forward in his desk. While his aura and body language said he was listening intently and willing to help and console, his eyes spoke otherwise. Dumbledore had heard of her "experience", but she was sure he had heard the rumors as well, for his eyes were dark with fear and anticipation. He did want to help, but she was not so sure he wanted to hear it.

She was silent for a while. It was annoying, really, not knowing how to phrase a simple request. Alright, maybe it wasn't simple, but it was still_ Dumbledore_ she was speaking to. He would never scoff at anything a student would say. He was as understanding and as wise as they came. Hermione closed her eyes.

"I want you to take me back to 1938."

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and then she heard him release it slowly. Clearly this was not what he was expecting. To be honest, she wasn't expecting it to be the first thing she said either, but it had happened. When she opened her eyes, she mustered the courage to look up at him. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, laced with still-evident worry, she sat straighter and lifted her chin. One never gets their way unless they are confident in their actions.

"Miss Granger. I do not understand your request. Why would you want to revisit the past?"

"Professor, it was the vision. I saw a... dark future." She gripped the arms of the chair tightly to remind herself to stay calm and keep her eyes on his.

_Do not look away, Hermione._

"Voldemort was in the castle with his Death Eaters. Everyone-" She exhaled. "It was not a future you would have been proud of." This was the most simple-minded explanation she had ever given. She would scold herself later.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, one hand gripping his long beard in thought. Voldemort in Hogwarts. "That is disturbing indeed. But, if I may ask, why turn back time? Why 1938?"

Hermione was determined not to be so vague this time. "You can't change something if it hasn't happened yet. And I certainly can't prevent meeting Voldemort face-to-face. I believe it _will_ happen someday." Her eyes glistened. "But this confrontation hasn't even happened yet, professor." She fumbled over finding the right words. "I can't very well politely speak to him and ask him to leave us alone, he will _never_ stop until he destroys everything and everyone Harry holds dear. Not to mention the rest of the Wizarding World."

Dumbledore lowered his head, peering at her past his glasses.

"So there's no point in staying in the present and just anticipating it or jumping into the future and dealing with it. My only choice is-" She shook her head quickly. "_Our_ only choice is to go back to where it began... Professor."

"You wish to go to Riddle's time?"

Hermione took a deep, determined breath. "Yes. I wish to travel back to 1938 and stop Tom Riddle. He'll-he'll be a first year and not at all as prepared to fight like I am. I can stop him." It came out as a fervent whisper.

"You wish to kill Tom Riddle?" His voice was uncertain. She didn't know if he was mocking her or really curious. Suddenly she was questioning her own ethics. Would she kill him? An eleven-year-old? An eleven-year-old _Tom Riddle_, though...

No. She couldn't kill a child. "Perhaps... perhaps I would only... I don't know..." Hermione groaned inwardly. She didn't think this through. Despite the fact that he was Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard, the one determined to kill Harry and Ron and all of their friends and family, the one who _does_ one day kill her friends... she couldn't look into his child-like eyes and take his life.

But then, she looked up, eyes resolute. "But I _can_ stop a seventh-year Tom Riddle." There was no remorse there. He would have killed his father, framed his uncle, formed the Death Eaters, and would be _her age_. He would not be a child, but an adult, fully capable of making his own decision and accepting the consequences.

"Professor, please. I'm begging you. Help me. Take me back to 1944."

He hadn't spoken a word for what seemed like hours. What was he thinking? Did he think it was a stupid idea? Was he going to tell her her plan would never work? Was there even a way to travel back multiple decades in time? Could she come back if she did? Hermione really should have done more reading on the topic of time-travel, for she felt completely unprepared.

Finally, she heard him speak. "Miss Granger. I understand the gravity of the situation. I also understand your desire to change the future, but-"

"There are no 'buts', Professor. The future is inevitable and we have to stop it!" He _would_ listen. If there was a way, he would guide her to it.

"The future cannot be changed without a sacrifice."

"I'll do anything!" Why was he taking this so lightly? Why wasn't he worried? Why wasn't he nodding in panic and offering to go with her?

He gave her a soft, sort of sad smile. "I know you would, Miss Granger. You are one of the truest Gryffindors to walk the halls."

She was taken aback by this compliment. It made her want to cry even more, but she held it in. "Then you know that I need to do this. I need at least the chance to. If I die, the at least I died trying to prevent something I wouldn't have wanted to live through anyway. You didn't see what I saw, Professor. You didn't see them die."

He eyed her sadly. "I cannot send a student to her death, Miss Granger. And I will not. Please," He grabbed the parchment he had been scribbling on before she came in, placing it shakily in front of him and not making eye contact with her. "have a good day."

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. This was it? This was all he could do for her? Apologize and essentially tell her to wait it out? To face her fears and face her future? Dumbledore was supposed to be wise and powerful. He was supposed to push students to do their best in any area of life. He had sent Harry on more missions than any sane person would, and he can't see her reasoning and send her on a very probable mission herself?

"No."

He looked up.

"You don't believe me."

"Miss Grang-"

"You say you understand, but you won't help me. You probably don't even believe me when I tell you he was here. He stood in the far Slytherin corner of the Great Hall. A Death Eater used the killing curse on Tonks while Remus watched. Luna held Ron as he died and Neville was tortured with the Cruciatus. Harry was half-dead and fighting a strong-standing Voldemort- How do you not believe me?" She choked a little on her words. "How do you _not_ understand the _dire_ circumstances we'll have to face? It could all end then, and Harry did _not _look like he was going to survive the fight. What about the _prophecy_? Don't you care?" Her tone was bitter and insulting. She didn't give a rat's ass about being respectful. He needed to see it her way.

"You _say_ you won't send me to my death, but by letting me walk out of this room, that is _exactly_ what you are doing. And not only me, but Remus, Neville, Harry, Ron... We will all die one way or another, but you have a choice as to which way. You can send me to my dorm and refuse to help, and we will die by Voldemort's hand when my vision come true. Or you can choose to send me back where, even if I don't succeed, you won't have this guilt hanging over your head. You won't have to think of what _might have been_, or what _could have happened_. But I could survive, Professor. I could kill Tom Riddle before he becomes Lord Voldemort and I could _save_ us. We can all live and die a natural death."

Dumbledore stood, walked around his desk, and stopped in front of Hermione. She stood and faced him too. "You are a strong young witch with the purest of intentions. I do believe you."

She saw the emotion in his eyes, the sadness of his face behind that long beard and those glasses. She saw the worry and the angst.

"But I will not send you back."

She faltered. After everything she said? "Will not or _cannot_?"

He remained silent.

She knew it. There was a way, but he wouldn't do it. "If we mean anything at all to you, Professor, at least explain to me why."

Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione Granger, if I send you back, you will never return."

And there it was. Glass shattered in her mind. _This_ was the sacrifice. Leave this time and enter a new one with the intention of either dying or starting over completely. All advances in time would have to be forgotten, all people, all memories. Everything she knew, she would have to forget and begin again. It would be like being reborn. She would never get to see anyone from this time. At least, not until she was a very old woman, and even then it would not be the same.

But... if she didn't do it, they would all die anyway and she the guilt would fall on her because she had _had_ a way out. It was a lose-lose situation. Regardless of the path she took, her current life was over. Tears brimmed her eyes as she thought of her choices.

What choices, though? I mean really, when you think about it, was there even a choice? Live to die or "die" to let them live? It was not a choice at all. It was hardly even something she should have let herself hesitate over.

"I understand that, and I would do it anyway." It was the only thing she could do.

Dumbledore's grip on her tightened and his mouth opened and closed. He didn't know what to say. "If you do this, Miss Granger, you will never see or speak to them again. You will have to live out your life in the past, watching as the present unfolds. Would you really call that a life?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to give him a sad smile. She reached up and grabbed the hand that rested on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, while it was most likely rather inappropriate, she pried his hand from her shoulder and just held it out in front of her, tightly and desperately. She looked down at their hands. "Professor, I love them all very much. I love this school, the professors, the creatures, the magic, and you. I love almost everything about this world. I love the present." Hermione found that it was becoming difficult to speak without her throat closing up on her. A quarter of her words were coming out as squeaks. "But if that vision were to happen tomorrow, everything I love would be gone. _That_ is not a life to live. Wouldn't you much rather live knowing that everything important to you survived _because_ of you?"

The tear in Dumbledore's eye might have been well hidden, but she still noticed. And it surprised her beyond words.

"You, Miss Granger, of all my years at Hogwarts... are my most _favorite_ pupil." He whispered, his own hand squeezing hers. "I am so..." He paused as he placed his other hand on top of theirs. "I am so proud of you."

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. That lump was not a full-sized tumor in her throat. She broke into tears, let go of his hands, and threw her arms around her headmaster in a final goodbye. She knew he was going to allow her to follow through with this plan. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. And she knew she would do it immediately. She had planned to do it the second he said yes anyway. Hermione had told Harry and Ron goodbye in a very subtle manner and she had written them letters too. Long letters that sat neatly in her bag beside the chair.

She pulled back and looked up at the pale-faced professor. He looked as though he'd be sick. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then bent down and grabbed her back, swinging it over her shoulder. She pulled out three letters- one for Harry, one for Ron, and one for her parents. That would be the most difficult letter to hand over. "Will you p-please deliver these for me?"

Dumbledore gingerly accepted the letters, not making eye contact with her. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand. "I suppose this means you won't be saying your farewell to anyone?"

She laughed lightly. "If I said anything remotely like a goodbye to Ron or Harry, do you think they'd ever let me leave the common room again?"

Apparently, Hermione was the only one of the two of them to find humor in this. But it was a sad sort of humor. "Just tell them I love them. All of them. And that... I'm sorry."

Dumbledore nodded. "You must know, your past will not be unwritten. You will not be forgotten. You will just cease to exist. Your present will be halted and a new present will be rewritten in the past. What you do will not affect your own past. It will be almost as though you are being reborn; a new person." Hesitation again. "But do not use your surname, Miss Granger. Think up your new past well and do not allow for holes in your story. Do _not_ mention any part of your future- Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, the Patil twins- no one. You must be very careful. And you must be very safe. I beg of you." His gaze was unsettling to say the least.

She was growing more and more worried with every word. "Will there be any... side effects?"

"There are no side-effects, but be very careful not to alter events. Many of your peers have grandparents that met while in Hogwarts. If you allow them to stray from their destined path, lives may be lost."

She swallowed heavily, nodding. She would definitely have to be very cautious. "I'm ready, Professor. Please." Clutching her bag tightly, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked to the center of the room, staring firmly at Dumbledore while he raised his wand.

"I am _very_ proud of you... Miss Granger."

Hermione watched him move his wand, watched as the pattern grew faster and more repetitive in the air. Then a blue and gold glimmer began to trail after his wand as he maneuvered it. Finally, when the colors grew bright and thick, almost burning her eyes, she heard him shout the incantation.

"_Aetas decipio_!"

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**There we have it, folks! Chapter two is already out! I'm having a very good time writing this and I have to say, I've got a lot of ideas. I just hope it works out. Also, I hope you all like it! I have no idea if you'll hate my writing style or my somewhat extensive use of description, but I'd like some input if no one would mind? Reviews are really,_ really_ nice.**

**Next chapter, we might see Tom... :)**


	3. The Present Past

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.**

**Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.**

**I'm very happy that people like this so far. It makes me feel good about updating it. And just in case anyone was curious, the title of this story- _Avenir Incertain_- is a French translation of "uncertain future." I thought it fit well and, come on, French is ten time prettier than English.**

**And sorry I haven't updated all weekend. I just moved into my new apartment! Anyway, please enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Present Past**

The light engulfed her. She felt her body bend and stretch unpleasantly as she fell into the vaccuum of blue and gold light. In a matter of seconds, though it seemed like an eternity longer, the awkward pressure she felt in her body subsided and her setting changed drastically from the warmth of Dumbledore's office to the cold darkness of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione lay there for a while as she tried to regain feeling in her lower body. She must have landed on rocks. Hermione could already feel the bruises forming down her spine. With a heavy groan, she used her arms to lift herself into sitting position.

Some kind of bird made a sound above her. It was like a cross between a screech and a squak. She looked above her at the trees. The area seemed so... familiar. But not necessarily in a good way. Apprehensiveness washed over her. Hermione hoisted herself up, using a rough, heavily chipped tree trunk for support as she surveyed the area. The darkness consumed everything. There was barely a sliver of light aside from the pale moonlight that bounce off a few chips of bark on select trees. Her eyes took much longer to adjust than she would have liked. Crackling sounds behind her broke her out of her thoughts and made her gasp. She turned her head in the direction it was coming from- it was hopefully just the wind. Maybe some leaves, considering it was early September. Or a little rabbit. She could even handle a family of large, territorial deer, but nothing more.

Swallowing her fear, she began a slow and steady walk in the direction opposite of the snapping sound. She prayed it was the right direction.

The scenery didn't change much as she walked. It mainly consisted of tall, dead-looking trees and darkness. While it looked like an average forest, the air felt heavier. Gloomier.

That thought faded as she came across a cluster of ominous yew trees. Yew. These didn't grow in just any forest. She reached a hand out and ran it against the cold bark of one of them. Now she was quite sure she had landed in the Forbidden Forest. Absolutely, positively, terrifyingly sure. But how far in was she?

Hermione took a deep breath and looked around. Being paranoid was allowed at this point.

The rustling came again, only this time it didn't stop. It didn't sound like a rabbit or a kind family of deer. Her eyes widened with panic and she set aside the pain of her fall to break out into a sprint. It didn't matter that a jolt ran through her spine every time her left leg pushes off of the ground, it didn't matter that her left ankle felt decently swollen, it didn't even matter that blood was trickling from her nose past her lips. She just kept running. The noises behind her increased on volume and speed as well, confirming her suspicion that she was being followed. Of all times and places.

"Unh!" A sneaky root hooked her foot and she landed on her knees. Pain thundered through her leg and up her lower back, and she was most certain that something was either sprained or broken. Still, she pursed her lips and pushed herself up, running as fast as she could on now two skinned knees and a bruising shin. Her body was screaming.

And the she saw it- _light_. Light coming from behind a tall, scraggly tree maybe thirty meters ahead. It wasn't bright, but it wasn't the eery moonlight that barely touched the Forbidden Forest. She knew it was more.

Strangely enough, a slow smile spread across her face. She was almost there! Almost out!

Not a second later than her discovery, she heard a deep, angry cry. Hermione held her breath as her entire body tensed. More rustling and the sound of hooves accompanied. Hermione at least now knew her predator. A wave of nausea hit her. They would not be so understanding if they caught her. That one centaur called for more, and more did come. She ran faster, now just feet away.

Another godforsaken root tripped her, but she caught herself on a sharp trunk, adding yet another injury. Using it to her advantage, she pushed against it, practically jumping out of the Forbidden Forest. But the running didn't stop there. Hermione allowed some strangled cries and grunts to escape her, panting as she ran further and further through the field until the rustling was silenced and the forest was well behind her.

The final time Hermione tripped, it was over her own two feet and partially due to her inflamed lungs. She let herself tumble and laid there for minutes while her heartbeat went down. It was over. She was out. She closed her eyes. Of all places in the Wizarding World to land, it had to have been the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night.

Slowly, her head cleared and she began putting together the facts.

It was September 10th, 1944. Tom Riddle was not Lord Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore was not Headmaster. The Minister of Magic was... Hermione crinkled her brows. Was it Ottaline Gambol? Perhaps.

She looked to her right, taking in the twinkling lights of Hogwarts. It hadn't changed a bit. Or rather, it wasn't _going_ to change. It made her sad to think about things in present tense when it was so far _from_ the present. Well, _her_ present. It just led to her coming to certain conclusions. Looking back up at the moon, she took a breath.

It was September 10th, _1944_. She was born in 1979. Her friends weren't born. Her memories were... Visions? Prophecies? God, she'd had enough of those... She was a former future student of Hogwarts-

She shook her head.

_Start over_.

1944. This was her time now. She would somehow enter the castle and ask to enroll. She would find Tom Riddle and _destroy_ him. If she survived, she would live out her life as best as she could given the circumstances. She would never speak to a soul about Harry Potter, the boy who lived, or Ronald Weasley, the boy who loved, or any of the other wonderful people the left behind.

Forward? Wherever it was, they were long gone. She would make new friends and start a new family.

This was all on the off chance she survived, though.

Hermione winced. If her math was correct, were she to survive, she'd be fifty two years old when she was born.

As her body relaxed, the pain that was somewhat numbed by her exhaustion from running began to surface. She threw an arm over her eyes and clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. It wasn't like she could do anything to fix things. _Crying _certainly wouldn't do anything- she had already jumped into the pit and there was no climbing out now. She would have to deal with it for the sake of her loved ones. She would have to save them.

But... a small, selfish part of her regretted it. It almost made Hermione wish she had never found the time-turner in the first place.

"Don't be so selfish, Hermione Granger." She cringed as she sat up, preparing to stand. "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few." Even her own voice sounded like a stranger's. She felt so... disembodied. Maybe the time travel warped her a little.

Standing with her chin held high, as proudly as she could despite how broken she felt, she racked her brain for a believable explanation as to why she was here. It would have to be a solid story with few solutions other than attending Hogwarts. But what would she say? How would she persuade the Headmaster?

Who _was_ the Headmaster...?

Hermione felt slightly ashamed of herself for not knowing. After all of the books she had read-_Hogwarts, A History _being among them-and all the conversations with Dumbledore, how could she not remember the Headmaster before him? She decided that it just wasn't an important piece of information, what with all the life-threatening chaos surrounding her each day.

With a tinge of anxiety shining in her brown eyes, Hermione hesitated for only a fraction of a second before beginning her trek across the grounds toward the castle.

* * *

The castle loomed over her. Was it really always this big and intimidating or was it just her current mood that made it so? Hermione stared at the front entrance of Hogwarts. She could simply walk in. But chances were slim that the school had stayed the exact same all these years. Where would she go? Which hallway would she take? Dumbledore was no longer Headmaster, and she didn't know where the current Headmaster's office was. She also didn't know who to speak to about finding said Headmaster.

There was also a slim chance that it wasn't past curfew. There wouldn't be a (rule-abiding) student left in the halls!

Well, if worst came to worst, she'd get caught by a prefect or a staff member and be taken to the Headmaster anyway. Yes, that was a great plan. So she went with it.

The large door creaked as Hermione pushed it open. She frowned. It seemed a little too easy to get inside the castle. Was it because she was already safe on the grounds? She wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She was in, now she just needed to attract attention.

If her legs and back weren't burning, she'd be running up and down the halls, shouting at portraits and playing on the staircases. Well, in her mind she would be. Instead, she slowly crept through the torchlit corridors, eyeing the portraits and paintings, watching for an approaching light.

"Hello?" She stopped. The sound of her voice was really something pitiful. She could do better. "Is anyone there? Hello? Please, I- I need to speak with the Headmaster. I'm here to-"

"_Who_ is causin' such a _ruckus_?" A hoarse, unfriendly voice came from around the corner. Following it was a short man, not taller than five and a half feet, with a long, thin face and an almost alarmingly thin figure. He must have been close to sixty, which added to the gauntness of his features. His hair sat at his shoulder, a charcoal color, and slightly balding in the back. His dark eyes landed on her. "Who're you?"

Hermione realized that planning this conversation in her head and actually going through with it were two different things. She could have planned a speech in front of a mirror and she still wouldn't have known what to say.

_Better start off small_. "I-I'm Hermione Gr-" _Damn it._

He raised an eyebrow at her and tapped his food impatiently. "I don' have all nigh'. State yer business or get off my groun's!"

Ah, "his" grounds. He must have been the caretaker. She held back a snigger as she thought of Filch. Was it a job requirement for caretakers to look so... homely?

No, she had to think. Had to make up a name. "Hermione Graves. I have to meet with the Headmaster. It's urgent."

He lifted his chin and widened his eyes mockingly, stepping toward her. "Oh, _urgent_ is it? So you expect me to let a girl tha' has no business bein' here _waltz_ righ' on to my land, _demanding _the comp'ny of the Headmaster." He stepped closer, cocking his head to the side. "A girl tha' righ' well might be one'a... one'a Gridelwald's _stooges_? Is that it?"

Hermione cringed as his eyes vibrated in paranoid excitement. "...no. Sir. I-I'm a student from... Beauxbatons. I'm here to request a transfer."

The man scoffed loudly. "_Transfer_? You wan' to _transfer_? A student has never transferred before. You're outta luck, princess." He guffawed.

"Sir, _please_! I must speak with him! I must transfer to Hogwarts. I will _not _leave until I am shown to his office." She huffed. Her face was red and her fists shook. Who was this rat of a man to tell her who she will and will not speak to? And who is he to call her _princess_?

He looked taken aback. Now he was on the verge of shouting. "Get off my groun's or I'll-"

"Mr. Bay, may I be of assistance?"

Hermione felt the tears well up inside of her again as-a much younger-Professor Dumbledore strolled out from behind the corner. His glasses were the same, his robes were still as flamboyant as ever, but his hair... he could have passed as Grandfather Weasley with that red tint to his beard. A small smile tugged at her mouth.

The so-called Mr. Bay gawked at him. "N-no sir." Then he looked over at Hermione's battered, dirty form. "This one says she's come to speak to Dippet-"

_Dippet_. _That's_ what it was.

"-abou' _transferring_. Says it's _urgent_." He scoffed again, narrowing her eyes at her as he shook his head in distaste. Then he looked back up at Dumbledore. "Can you believe tha'? Look at her. Wha' student from _Beauxbatons_ rolls around in the mud?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "It _is_ urgent." Her eyes darted to Dumbledore's. "Please, Professor. I need to speak with _someone_."

Bay eyed her. "How'd you know he's a professor? Been spyin' on us, have you?" He looked to Dumbledore as he pointed an accusing finger at Hermione. "_See_? I told you she was no good!"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head at the man. "Alright Deontos, I'm sure I can handle Miss..." His eyes asked the question on their own.

"Miss Graves..." Her voice has never been so shaky.

"I will speak to Miss Graves."

"You'll uncover 'er hidden intentions?"

"I will try my best Mr. Bay. Have a good evening." Dumbledore strode past him towards Hermione, dismissing Deontos Bay, 1944 Hogwarts caretaker, to take care of "his" land. That left the two of them alone and Hermione completely uncertain about how to initiate this conversation.

"What is this urgent matter, Miss Graves?"

Hermione wasn't sure how to tell him. Should she? Of everyone at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was surely one she could trust. And if she convinced him and gained his favor, maybe he'd help her persuade Headmaster Dippet.

But... future Dumbledore warned her not to tell anyone. Did that include himself as well? But really, how bad could it be? If she just briefly explained the Tom Riddle situation to him, he could find a way to expel him!

Who's to say he still won't turn into Voldemort though? And what if he's twice as bad after his expulsion?

She groaned.

"Miss Graves?"

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts.

Dumbledore could see worry in her eyes. It wouldn't hurt to hear the girl out. "Shall we get you to the infirmary before we talk?"

"Oh, um..." She had completely forgotten about her injuries. Looking down at herself, she realized her shirt and jeans were torn and muddy. Blood stained her hands and there was a hole in her right shoe. There was also the throbbing ache of her back and limbs. "Thank you, Professor. I would appreciate that." She amiled, almost awkwardly. It felt weird being in his presence. Especially since he wasn't the him she knew. Hermione glanced up at him as they walked. Hard to imagine that Dumbledore was ever younger. Even just slightly. The red did suit him though, she thought with a suppressed smile.

Who was she kidding? If anyone could help her, it'd be Dumbledore. If there was anyone she could trust, it would be him, she decided resolutely.

"Professor?"

His eyes sparkled when he gave her a small smile. "It can wait until you've been healed." He nodded toward the door in front of him. The door to the infirmary stood tall a few steps ahead.

* * *

Armando Dippet's stare was intimidating. Even though he was very old, balding, and couldn't seem to sit up straight, he practically loomed over her from behind his desk.

Hermione thought about what she was going to say; how she was going to persuade him to let her stay at Hogwarts. It had been easier with Dumbledore, but that was because she knew so much about him already. She could trust him with the truth.

_"I'm not from here, Professor," she finally spoke up._

_"Mr. Bay mentioned you had come in from Beauxbatons." He confirmed. "Is there any particular reason you and your family made such a trip?"_

_Hermione frowned, sighing nervously. "I'm not... from Beauxbatons."_

_Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "Is that so? And where are you from, Miss Graves?"_

_Hermione looked up at him. Her eyes were pleading. "Hogwarts." She had to tell him. She had to disregard her promise she made to future Dumbledore. Briefly she wondered whether or not he would remember this conversation in the future... Did it work like that?_

_He cocked his head to the side. She could tell he was trying hard to be polite and to listen to her, but she could also see his confusion. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."_

_Hermione looked away again. "I'm from Hogwarts, but not... not from this time, sir."_

_Dumbledore was quiet now. She made eye contact again. "You're from... the past?"_

_Hermione smiled. "Not exactly."_

_"Future then..."_

_She nodded._

_Dumbledore hesitated. "If what you say is true, then why are you here, Miss Graves?"_

_Hermione honestly couldn't tell if he believed her or not, but she continued to explain. Without giving too much away, of course. "I've come to stop a student from making a terrible decision, one that will affect much of the wizarding world in my time."_

_He raised an eyebrow in curiosity and pursed his lips. "Who?"_

_Hermione stuttered. "I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I-it might..."_

_Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "While your attire seems strange and you do not necessarily radiate the personality of a young witch from this period, I'm afraid I can't just take what you say as truth."_

_She nodded. "You're very interested in Dragon's blood, Professor. In fact, you're looking to discover the multiple ways to use it. You'll eventually discover twelve. You also are a friend of Nicolas Flamel. I can't say much, but the two of you have been working on a project together. Something very powerful," she whispered._

_Dumbledore's jaw went lax as she continued, "You once told me that," She laughed thinking back at the memory. "you have a map of the London Underground above your knee. You also..." She considered telling him this, but she wasn't sure if it would alter any future events. It was just knowledge, wasn't it? Dumbledore was responsible._

_He looked very unsettled. "Yes?"_

_Might as well. "You become Headmaster in 1970. And a great one at that."__  
_

_He didn't speak, he just stared at her. His hand was limp in his lap as he sat on the edge infirmary bed across from hers. Then, without voicing his thoughts on everything she had just told him, he stood. "If you are feeling well, I will let the Headmaster know that you would like to meet with him in an hour."_

_Hermione gaped. "Really? Thank you so much, Professor! I'm very grateful." Her grin made her face hurt, but it soon fell when she realized he wasn't smiling back. She supposed it would be hard to go back to being lighthearted after meeting someone from the future. He must be thinking all kinds of things about it; about himself, about the student she came back for..._

_With a final nod, he excused himself, telling the witch in charge to take her to Dippet's office later._

Which brought her to here and now.

While convincing Dumbledore she needed to here was easy, it was different with Dippet. With him, she needed a strong story that was very much opposite the truth. "Headmaster, I really appreciate you allowing me to speak with you."

As if he had disregarded her words, he jumped straight to the point. "Professor Dumbledore has told me you wish to spend your last year of schooling here at Hogwarts. To transfer from..." He scrolled a finger down his scroll of parchment. "...Beauxbatons. Is that true?"

She cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Linking his fingers in front of him, he leaned forward. "In all its years, Hogwarts School has never had a transfer. While we do not discriminate, we _do_ adhere to the system. A student begins their schooling at age eleven, when they are sorted into the houses and families that will help them grow to the best of their abilities. We pride ourselves in the witches and wizards we mold."

She snorted inwardly. Dippet molded a fine man in Voldemort, that was for sure. I bet he was shaking with pride.

"You would see how this would be a problem-allowing a... non-traditional student to enroll."

Hermione shook her head in disagreement and opened her mouth to argue, but Dippet continued.

"Each of the first years start afresh. They have limited knowledge of magic and wizarding history, so they learn _together_. The third years have equal general knowledge among their class, for example. As do the fifth years, and so on. You, Miss Graves, seem like a bright young witch, but unfortunately, it is highly unlikely that you match your potential classmates in magical intelligence taking into account the school from which you are transferring from."

Her fist shook. She clenched her jaw and tried not to rip the remaining hairs from the old man's head. Hogwarts was a fantastic school and it did provide the wizarding world with some of its best, but who was he to undermine the other schools?

"I regret to inform you that Beauxbatons' curricular is not quite as... advanced, as is Hogwarts'." He piled together his papers and tapped them against the desk to organize them. "I sincerely apologize, but you will not be a transfer student."

She stood quickly, surprising him. A parchment escaped his grip and landed crookedly on his desk. "You meant to tell me you're not letting me into Hogwarts because I'm not at the same level as the other seventh years?"

Dippet cleared his throat. "Miss Graves," he warned.

"Is that_ it_, sir? You told me you did not discriminate, and here you are saying that I don't match up with _your_students because I am from another school? Is that it or is it really because I would not be _traditional_? That it would not be following these... unwritten rules?"

He raised his voice slightly, still managing to sound tired despite his volume. "Miss Graves. Please sit down. I am not unjustly comparing you to my students, I am simply trying to keep my school's reputation intact."

"So my supposed level would compromise it's standing?"

He eyed her. It was not something he wanted to admit. He wanted to let her down easily and make her believe it was just the rules. But she was very adamant. "Yes. Unfortunately. Once more, I sincerely apo-"

"How do you know what my level is?" She blurted, now shaking with anger. How dare he? How _dare_ he? Even if she were a Beauxbatons student, Hermione knew her standing with the other students. She knew she loved magic with all her heart and the school she chose would not have changed her desire to learn _more_. Had she really attended Beauxbatons, she still would have read the countless books on spells, charms, curses, and hexes. She still would have practiced on her own. She still would have been highly attentive in her classes. She still would have been the same, skilled witch. "Let me prove to you that I'm worthy of your school."

"Miss-" he began, but she didn't let him get a word out until she was finished with her request.

"If Hogwarts is as quality of a school as you say it is, and if you're going to be picky about the students you've _raised_, let me prove to you that I am worth your time."

Dippet was silent. He didn't know what to say. It was only a request-he could say no if he wanted to. There were no consequences for denying her entry. But... this was a challenge and, even in his old age, he still could not appear to be reluctant or afraid. Especially not to a student. And he knew that the professors at Beauxbatons were not nearly as advanced as his magical staff. Perhaps a test would not do any harm.

After half a minute of silence, where Hermione stood angrily, staring Dippet hard in the eye and sweating profusely beneath her blue blouse, he finally spoke.

"Alright. One performance exam, one verbal exam, and one potion."

She let out her breath, allowing her fingers to relax from their right fist. Relief. He winced a little as the words came out, Hermione noticed. Maybe he was regretting it?

_He should._

But... would he keep his word? Hermione could take whatever he threw at her, but would he allow her to stay? "Headmaster, I don't want to seem disrespectful by any means. It's just that..." She sat down and flattened her skirt against her knees. "You have an amazing school and I would do anything to attend it. Even if it's just for a year."

His expression looked as though he would scoff at any moment, but he didn't. He looked down at his paper. "I understand, and you are right to feel this way."

She almost rolled her eyes at him.

_Unbelievable_.

"We will begin immediately with your exams."

"Um, Professor. Again, I do not want to be impolite, and-and I'm not suggesting that you are not a man of his word, but... how will I know you'll keep your promise if I pass your tests?" She fiddled with a loose thread.

He looked taken aback. "Miss Graves, I will not perform the Unbreakable Vow, if that is what you're proposing."

She held her hand up instantly. "No! No, no. That's not it. There's... a simpler spell. A promise spell. It will just make it difficult to steer from your word." She spoke slowly and without much confidence, now wondering if she had pushed this too far.

He exhaled sharply. "I am a man of my word, Miss Graves. I assure you."

Hermione smiled softly. "I don't doubt that, sir. Then the spell shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

His gaze was scrutinizing. She felt as though she was being judged and plotted against as she spoke.

Dippet's stare was unfaltering and his breathing had sped up. The parchment underneath his bony had was crumpling with the pressure of his fingers digging into the desk. He lifted his wand. "_Promitto_."

Hermione gasped as a wisp of pale light swirled around her torso, up over her head, then over around Dippet's body.

"If you're quite pleased, I would like to continue with the examinations," he snapped.

She swallowed, but her throat felt dry. Hermione nodded.

* * *

"What is the purpose of _Waddiwasi_?"

"It forces your opponent to dance."

"Where do ashwinders raise their young?"

"They don't. They turn into dust after they lay their eggs."

He huffed. "How might one take wood from a bowtruckle?"

"They like wood lice and fairy eggs. They'll often trade with you."

"Name the witch that is the eldest daughter of the last Celtic Druid of Ireland?"

Hermione remembered reading all about her. They called her the 'Goddess of Beauty'. "Cliodna."

"What creature was released in the Triwizard Tournament that injured three school heads?"

She thought hard on this one, not quite remembering. She saw him almost smirk. And then it hit her. "A cockatrice."

"What _year_?"

"1792."

After over thirty more questions like those, ranging in difficulty, Hermione had passed the verbal exam. The performance was not quite as simple. Dippet had made her perform nine spells, three curses, seven charms, four hexes, and a jinx. She nearly stumbled over her _densaugeo_, but she had only tried it once before, and it was just out of curiosity. Who would ever use a tooth-growing hex anyway? It seemed like Dippet was _trying_ to get her to make an error by choosing such obscurities like _densaugeo_.

Finally, the potion portion of the 'entrance exam' came around and, despite Hermione's anxiety, she noticed that Dippet actually looked rather impressed. "I must say, Miss Graves, you are exceedingly bright. You know much of the material."

_Much_? _Try all!_

"For your final test, I would like you to make an Alihotsy Draught." Then he grinned, the twinkle in his eyes reminding her very much of Dumbledore. "But be careful." With that, he walked across the room and sat at his desk.

Hermione took a breath. Alright. Alihotsy Draught. If not careful with it, it causes hysteria. And it was of reasonable difficulty. But she would not give up just yet.

Dippet watched her. He was proud of the witch. While he had not intended on letting her into the school, she proved worthy of a Hogwarts background, and extremely intelligent as well. Her spirit was strong, her mind was fortified, and her determination was admirable. This potion was challenging, but he found that he did not doubt her.

By the end of the examination, Hermione had completed the potion and done well. Dippet smiled at her worried expression. "Congratulations, Miss Graves. You are Hogwarts' first transfer student. Make us proud."

Hermione's heart jumped in place. Finally. She had _done_ it. She had persuaded Dumbledore _and_ Dippet!

"Now we must get you sorted." The hat was in for a challenge. He's never had to sort a seventh year before. Hermione followed him to where they kept it. As they removed the enchanted hat from its box and placed it on her head, she heard it hum in confusion.

"This is _strange_. Very strange." But there was no hesitation after that. "Gryffindor!"

Hermione grinned. She felt her stomach turn pleasantly as she remembered her first sorting. She had been so proud to be a Gryffindor. And she still was, that had not changed.

After putting the hat back in its place and with a wave of his wand, Dippet materialized a list of supplies she would need as well as a schedule for her classes. "I don't expect you to have your materials by tomorrow, but please do attend your classes. I will regret letting you attend Hogwarts if you appear to be negligent."

Hermione nodded fervently. "I will, sir. Thank you! Very much." She grinned and started toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Miss Graves," She turned to him.

"Professor Dumbledore will show you to your dormitory."

She smiled broadly. "Of course." And she stepped out of the portrait hole.

* * *

The night before had been uneventful. Hermione walked with Dumbledore to her dorms, but they didn't speak much. He just congratulated her. She assumed he was feeling strange about her past- or rather, her future. _His _future. Then they had said good night and she walked into the Gryffindor living area. It was dark, but the fire burned. And it was warm and smelled the same. How funny it was that the scent of warmth and safety remained after all those years. It even looked identical to her future dorm. It was almost as if she had woken up from this dream and Ron and Harry would run down the stairs to tell her some pointless story.

What she wouldn't give to hear another one of their pointless stories.

Saddened now, she walked up to the girls' room, finding three empty beds at the end. Taking the one closest to the far wall and furthest from the other sleeping girls, she climbed under the covers and tried to sleep.

That morning, she had woken up an hour before the other girls, cleaned herself up with her wand, changed into the school robes that somehow awaited her at the foot of her bed, and left for a walk around the castle. The uniform was similar, but the skirt was longer and the style of the shirt seemed very old-fashioned. But then again, her life was now old-fashioned.

Hermione had woken up in a sour mood, probably upset from a night of sleeplessness and thoughts about her friends. The walk would do her good.

After making it down past Hagrid's Hut-or where it would have been had Hagrid been there-and around the lake, she headed back inside. Finding her way around proved difficult, for the classes were definitely not arranged the same way. With the help of a second year, as ashamed as she was to admit it, Hermione finally found it. She took a step into the Potions class and took a moment to look around. It was odd seeing the potions class so... bright was not the word for it, but it certainly was not as gloomy. The walls remained the same, but there were more candles and far less spooky decorations like the ones in Snape's class. The desks were different too, she noted.

Standing there in the doorway, she took a shaky breath. It was not easy being brave and optimistic when your entire world was brand new. Looking at her fellow students, she realized that out of the hundreds of witches and wizards that attended Hogwarts, she knew no one. Not a soul. It definitely dampened her spirits, but she would make it work. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and patted her robes flat with her palms. If she was going to live and die in this time period, she was going to do with all the effort she could muster.

"Pardon me," someone behind her drawled.

Hermione jumped, turning to face the boy that had walked up behind her. This was her first interaction with a member of the past and her heart was thumping loudly in her chest. She wasn't sure what to say.

He laughed. "I didn't mean to startle you." The blonde boy looked up at the doorframe with a small grin on his face and raised his eyebrows. "You're just standing in the doorway and a few of us are stuck in the corridor wondering if we'll have to resort to observing the class from outside."

Something glinted in his eyes, but Hermione wasn't sure what it was. She blushed heavily. "I-I'm..." Her eyes flashed from his amused ones to the three students behind him. One was blonde, much like him but lighter, very pale, with sharp features. Another was improbably tall with black hair and a large nose. He scowled at her. The third was rather decent-looking, with dark hair and kind eyes. She could almost see a soft smile pulling at his mouth before she looked back at the person that confronted her.

"You're what?" He smirked. "Going to stand there all hour?"

While she was quite embarrassed and genuinely felt bad for blocking the way, she also felt irritated with him for mocking her in front of the rest of the class. Her brows tightened together. "In my opinion, you might as well just stay in the hall. I'm sure you'd probably do just as poorly as you would sitting in class."

He raised an eyebrow, tightening his lips. That took him by surprise, he had to admit. It wasn't like a woman to talk down to a man as swiftly as she did. And it was annoying. He opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted.

"Ah, Mr. Avery, I see you've met our new student. I assume you've introduced yourselves?" The question was not only directed at the two of them, but at the boys behind Avery. Slughorn smiled expectantly, nodding at them in urge to continue.

Hermione studied his face. It was so much more youthful. She could barely find her voice. She swallowed and looked back at the blonde bastard. "Hermione... Graves."

Slughorn nodded approvingly and looked at the boy.

Avery sighed, aggravated. "Durant Avery." He politely extended a hand toward her, which she hesitated before taking.

"Boys?"

Hermione watched as the kind-eyed boy stepped forward and also extended his hand. "Alphard Black. Pleasure."

Her ears felt hot. Black? As in Sirius? Was this Sirius's father? No, if she recalled correctly, his father was Orion, who married the dreadful Walburga. Then... was this an uncle? Regardless, he was probably his family. Her stomach flipped and she grabbed his hand, surprised at the pleasant warmth. "It's nice to meet you," her voice came out in a whisper, but she honestly meant it.

"I'm Abraxas Malfoy and this is Walden Macnair. Might we enter the room now? The introductions are taking far too long," declared the fair-haired boy in the hallway as he pushed through the small crowd of his friends and into the Potions class.

Slughorn looked displeased at his attitude, but he smiled at Hermione and asked her to take a seat. With one last glance at Durant Avery, noticing his glower, she sat herself down at a desk in the front row while the other boys huddled in the back corner.

It was a Slytherin-Gryffindor class. Marvelous.

The professor stepped to the front of the class and cleared his throat, setting his belongings on the desk. His fingers fumbled gracelessly over the empty vials sitting on his desk. Two fell from their stands and rolled off of the table, shattering on the stone ground. His ears reddened as he cleared his throat, peeking up at his students in embarrassment. Hermione watched Slughorn curiously, then took the time to survey the students in her row. It was almost two weeks into the school year; was he always this nervous? Judging by the blank, bored expressions by almost everyone, she would guess 'yes'. She turned her attention back to the professor as he introduced their lesson for the day.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well today, so I've chosen a rather common potion to study. Could any one of you bright young witches and wizards explain to the class what Murtlap Essence is?" Slughorn's eyes glimmered in excitement as they skimmed the room of faces for a volunteer.

Hermione's hand shot up while the other clenched her quill in anticipation. Just as he let out a short, happy sound and prepared to call her name, a voice interrupted.

"Murtlap Essence relieves pain and heals cuts and scratches. It's made from strained and pickled murtlap tentacles and used _often_ in the infirmary. Sir." came a low, almost bored voice from the back of the room nearby the door.

Hermione turned around, huffing at whoever it was that spoke out of turn. Wasn't it still common courtesy in this time period to wait until you were called on? She examined him. The boy was pale, but not sickly, with dark hair and dark eyes. He sat slightly hunched over his notebook, fingering the grey barbs of his quill. As she continued to glare from the front row, his gaze locked with hers momentarily and he seemed to question her with his eyes. She felt her cheeks warm, but as quickly as those eyes had landed on her, they had returned to Slughorn, who was positively beaming.

"Ahh, yes, yes. Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Riddle."

He nodded respectfully, a small, smug smile in place, and looked back down at his notebook without another word.

Her quill snapped in her hand.

* * *

**Sooo... In the next few chapters, you'll see that some of the people in Tom's "group" weren't necessarily classmates of his in the books. Some attended Hogwarts a before him, other a little after, but I really wanted to include as many families as possible in this, so you'll just have to sit tight and bear with me. I promise it'll all work out.**

**Please review! :)**


	4. First Impressions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.**

**Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.**

**Sorry that took a while! I've been working a lot. Moving into a new apartment requires more money than I have, unfortunately. Enjoy the chapter! I feel like I butchered it up completely. But hopefully not. :(**

* * *

**Chapter 4: First Impressions**

Potions was not by any means his favorite class. If anything, he thought it to be a worthless part of the curriculum. While he admired what one could do with proper knowledge of ingredients and enchantments, and while he _had _at times benefitted from a good potion or two, Tom found that the potions covered in Hogwarts were too simple most of the time. Running a hand down his face in boredom at the mere thought of today's lesson, whatever that old coot had decided it would be, he rested his head in his palm. There were plenty more important things he could do with his time. Training his _own_ club, for example.**  
**

"Going to stand there all hour?"

Tom turned to the doorway, where Durant stood, clearly harassing some bushy-haired Gryffindor. He eyed her for a moment, wondering why he didn't recognize her, before he realized that this was probably the new transfer student they had announced at breakfast. But she wasn't _at_ breakfast. He snorted in amusement. A smirk spread across his face when Slughorn stepped in and called for introductions. While he couldn't hear her quiet murmur of a name, he did enjoy how awkward she seemed to feel when Abraxas snapped at her.

_Atta boy_.

The boys came and sat down- Walden Macnair in the seat directly in front of him, Abraxas Malfoy next to Walden, Durant Avery to one side of Tom, and Alphard Black to the next. Each gave him a respectful nod as he glanced at them. He locked eyes with Durant though, who exasperatedly rolled his eyes, nodding his head in the direction of the professor. "Slug Club might be useful, but he's an annoying prick," he whispered.

Tom smirked again, dipping his quill in ink.

"...could any one of you bright young witches and wizards explain to the class what Murtlap Essence is?"

Tom scrawled the name of the potion onto the top of his parchment. It was such a simple potion, hardly worth studying in his final year. He could make a dozen batches blindfolded and in a spinning room. Slughorn was losing his touch. Tom didn't even have to finish writing before answering. "Murtlap Essence relieves pain and heals cuts and scratches. It's made from strained and pickled murtlap tentacles and used _often_ in the infirmary." He looked up, but his eyes landed on the same brown-haired girl that Durant had been mocking. She had his back to him and her arm extended far towards the ceiling.

_Oh please. _

He almost wanted to scoff at her. Perhaps she should have been quicker in her response if she was so confident in her answer. He turned his attention back toward Slughorn, absently running his fingers along the dark barbs of his quill. "Sir," he added politely.

Slughorn's face erupted into a grin, but Tom had an odd feeling that someone was staring at him.

It was the girl. The Gryffindor.

He glanced at her, narrowing his eyes a fraction when he saw her glare. Who was _she_ to get angry at _him_ for knowing the right answer? It wasn't his fault he was quicker to respond. He all but rolled his eyes at her dramatic expression, then looked back at Slughorn.

"Ahh, yes, yes. Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Riddle."

His house wouldn't have half their points if it weren't for him, he was sure of it. Nodding, he looked back down at his desk, pleased to take the pride from the damned lions.

"Well done." Alphard whispered.

Tom's grin faded as he looked back up, the feeling of being watched still hovering over him. And he was right; the Gryffindor girl looked at him with such wide eyes. Almost... afraid? He tensed, but she looked away quickly. Shaking his head lightly in disbelief that such a strange person was allowed to transfer into his school, he looked at Durant, who had noticed her behavior as well. He, too, shook his head.

"Demented," he whispered to Tom.

He looked back down, scribbling the directions to the potion as though Durant hadn't said a word.

* * *

The whole point of this self-made mission was to find and stop Tom Riddle. She had thrown herself into another _timeline _to see this man stopped. This was one of the most unpleasant predicaments she had ever, willingly or not, gotten herself into, so naturally, she would follow through. Hermione would _have_ to face him at some point. Why, then, was this encounter so difficult to believe? After witnessing moving chess pieces, being turned to stone, befriending Azkaban prisoners, fighting Death Eaters, and being a surprisingly crucial part to a _wizarding _war at her age, this shouldn't have been the most unnatural experience.

She had expected it, therefore she most certainly should not have been so surprised. But here she was, broken quill in hand, tingling legs, twisting stomach...

Said boy looked back up at her with an odd expression and she barely hesitated before quickly turning around. She'd been caught staring. All at once her thoughts exploded into unending streams. Would he disregard her staring? He probably didn't think it worth his time. Or did it mean something to him? Was she a perceived threat? Probably not, she was just a girl. Or would he consider her an admirer? She blanched.

_What a revolting thought_.

She was probably just being paranoid. Hermione had no reason to be afraid. Well, not yet at least. He didn't know who she was and he had did not have grounds on which to suspect her. She would just have to be calm and set up a game plan on how to take him down.

Slughorn continued with his lecture at the front of the room, conjuring ingredients and supplies for the potion. "Partner up with the person next to you and make one cauldron-full of Murtlap Essence. Your instructions are on page 233 and your materials are on the front table." He clasped his hands beneath his long sleeves. "Begin," he said with a wide smile before he sat down to observe.

Hermione looked to her left, seeing a thin, pale girl with long, black hair. According to her robes, she was a Slytherin. One might suggest the same thing from the permanent scowl that seemed to be plastered onto her face. Surprisingly, though, the scowl melted into a hesitant, but warm, smile. She looked almost... pleasant.

Hermione smiled back warily. This was it. If she was going to stay in this time, she needed to make friends. The opportunity presented itself and she would not let it go. Clearing her throat, she lifted a hand in a shamefully awkward wave. "Hello, I guess you're my partner."

The girl inspected Hermione's crooked wave, then nodded and pulled out her cauldron. Hermione sighed, relieved. She didn't have her supplies yet so she was glad the girl initiated using her own.

She opened her Potions textbook-which Hermione regrettably noticed she did not have either-and extended her hand shyly. "Eileen Prince."

That name sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it before? Mentally shaking her head, she smiled a little wider, taking the girl's slender hand with her now lowered one. "Hermione Graves." She paused a bit before adding, "You're the first friend I've made here."

Eileen's eyes shimmered. Hermione wondered if the prospect of being friends brightened her expression as much as it did because she didn't have many, but then felt very rude thinking that. "I'm honored." The girl half-whispered, turning a couple of pages in her book. "You must be the new transfer then."

Hermione nodded. "From Beauxbatons. I'm really lucky to have gotten in." _Really_ lucky.

"Oh, you must be really smart." Eileen flipped through the textbook, still well away from the required page. "Dippet is very particular when it comes to the school. He would never let just anyone in." Her eyes met Hermione's again, but they were soft. Inviting. Kind. "I'm happy for you."

Slytherins in this time period were much nicer, she concluded. First the dark-haired boy in the hallway that smiled and introduced himself, now Eileen Prince. But then there was Tom Riddle... So maybe not all.

Hermione watched the girl stop at various pages along the way, skimming her eyes over random potions. This girl was so familiar, but she couldn't seem to place it. Her dark eyes reminded her of someone back home. Perhaps a student? She must be related to someone.

While she was almost positive she wasn't related to her, she admitted that Eileen reminded her of Luna. There was an airiness about her personality, and the way she stared at Hermione for fractions longer than necessary was very much like the blonde girl. She seemed ever-curious. The only non-Luna aspects were that she was a Slytherin, had dark hair, and seemed much more sensical. And something about her made her seem unhappy.

"Shall we venture up to the table?" Hermione blinked. Eileen didn't make eye contact, nor did she wait for Hermione's response but Hermione stood and walked with her anyway. Eileen held her book and assembled most of what they needed, while Hermione was proud to say that she knew much of what went into the potion without the book. As she reached for a purple vial, however, her hand collided with another. It was a male hand; pale with long fingers. For a moment, she meant to laugh it off and apologize; perhaps make another friend. Merlin knew she would need as many as she could make.

With barely a hint of a smile and a light blush on her cheeks, she followed the hand up to its owner and instantly felt her color drain.

Tom smiled politely down at her, standing almost a head taller. "Pardon me."

Hermione took a deep, silent breath, feeling her shoulder tense and jaw clench. Words escaped her.

Here she was.

1944.

Potions class.

Touching Tom Riddle's index finger.

It was so surreal. She had never seen a photograph of him, nor had she seen a memory. She had no idea what this boy looked like before today, unless you count tall, gray, seventy-something, and practically inhuman. And yet, seeing him now, Hermione felt as though this face had been frequenting her nightmares. It wasn't long before chills washed over her and she could feel the hatred virtually seeping through her pores. His apology rang silent. She could only think about punching him right in that repulsive smile.

But she couldn't.

_Relax._

"Right..." She managed to mumble. Impolite, she knew. But she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about it. Not with him.

Tom watched her search his face with furrowed brows, then look down at the table. Blinking a couple of times, his smile faded and he felt taken aback. What a _peculiar_ girl. He grabbed the vial and made his way back to his table with Alphard carrying the bulk of the items right behind him.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a breath and snatched another purple vial off the table. She was mostly angry at herself for the way she handled that... 'conversation'.

Eileen was staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "Are you feeling alright, Hermione?"

Nodding silently, Hermione led the way back to their desks, managing a quick peek in the Dark Lord's direction. He was nonchalantly tossing ingredients into his cauldron and waving his wand. It was as if he'd made this potion every day of his life. His expression didn't seem as bored as it did smug though, and Hermione shook her head.

"That's Tom Riddle."

She nearly fell out of her chair. "...Tom Riddle?"

Eileen nodded. Hermione noticed the tint of pink that colored her cheeks as she spoke to the table. "He was meant to Head Boy-" She quickly looked up at Hermione, "-the Head positions are the top student titles.

Hermione opened her mouth but then closed it quickly, realizing there were many things she wasn't supposed to already know. She just nodded.

Eileen turned her attention back down to the jar in her hands. She twisted the cap off. "Well, it was intended for Tom to get the position- everyone expected it with his marks- but Dumbledore has been turning the Headmaster against him." She placed the off green chunk of Murtlap on a board and placed a dark, flat stone on it, pressing down on it with much effort. "Dumbledore-" She grunted, flattening the ingredient, "-doesn't see the good in Tom like everyone else does. I personally think he's jealous of him. Tom's very intelligent and a very bright wizard. I'm sure Dumbledore sees him as a threat."

Hermione poured the purple vial into the heated cauldron. Eileen had no idea how right she was.

Eileen continued. "Anyway, Edward Manthrite is Head Boy now, but Tom is still exceedingly respectful to him." She glanced her way again. "I don't understand how Dumbledore can think so lowly of such a gentleman."

Hermione wanted to slap some sense into her, but she nodded. It almost hurt her neck to agree with her, even if she was just being polite.

Eileen added the crushed Murtlap to the cauldron and stirred counterclockwise eight times before turning up the heat. "He's very kind, you know. Tom has never caused a scene or disrespected a professor- well, other than Dumbledore. But truth be told, I find I can't stand the man either." She breathed out sharply. "He even makes poor Tom return to that wretched orphanage each summer."

Hermione raised a brow. Orphanage? That's right... he was born and raised in a muggle orphanage. She eyed Eileen. "Do you like him?" Maybe Hermione would never find a friend after all...

A deep blush set across her features. She shook her head vehemently, then reverted back to her almost-silent, spacious self, regretting her chatter. "No, I just admire him." She peeked up at Hermione past her black bangs. "And he's not half bad to look at."

Hermione cringed, sitting back in her chair as Eileen giggled to herself. "Hardly." Every time she closed her eyes and pictured _Tom Riddle_, she saw the flat, foul face of _Lord Voldemort_.

_Absolutely disgusting_.

Allowing herself a peek over her shoulders at the wizard in question, she felt her lips curve into a snarl but held back.

His dark hair was _too_ dark. His pale skin was _too _pale. His dark eyes lacked any kind of shimmer. His posture was inconsistent. His fingers were too- well, he did have nice hands, but that was one good thing out of a million faults. She saw him tense and looked away before he looked back at her.

Eileen stirred again, adding a clear vile and one with a dark, mucky liquid. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Suddenly Hermione felt her stomach turn. She wanted to shake the girls shoulders and tell her not to trust her with her secrets because Hermione couldn't be honest herself. She felt guilty. "Sure."

"I did like Tom once."

Hermione wasn't sure she liked this. It already started like a horror story. "Once?"

Eileen nodded, waving her wand at the cauldron and adding the Murtlap extract at the same time. "Up until the summer before my sixth year. Dumbledore was sending Tom to the orphanage and I was quite angry with him. Tom had barely spoken to me our entire time at Hogwarts, but the times he had, he was very warmhearted and charming, so I developed quite the crush."

Hermione coughed loudly. The murmuring in the classroom came to a halt as many students stared at her with odd expressions. She blushed and looked back at Eileen. "Go on."

She smiled gently, turning down the heat. "Well, I wanted to tell Tom that Dumbledore was being unfair to him. To make him realize it so he could fight back."

Hermione paled.

"But by the time I found him, he had already boarded the train. I suppose it was lovestruck panic on my part, but I jumped on the train myself. I couldn't track him down though. I was forced to take a compartment until the trail stopped. When we got out, he was already gone." She smiled again. "I figured I'd just make my way to the orphanage, but I got lost." Her smiled widened.

Hermione could see nothing sweet about this story, but she gave her an awkward smile to show she was listening. Her eyes didn't match the smile, so she probably looked rather uncomfortable. She must have left her social skills back in her decade, she mulled.

"I found this dark little home, but pretty, you know?" Eileen's eyes shimmered as they searched Hermione's. "It looked somewhat sinister, but I didn't feel afraid when I stood at the front gate. I felt very much at home, to be honest. That's when I saw him."

"Riddle?"

Eileen shook her head, the blush and smile both returning in full force. "Not him. Someone else. Another boy. A _beautiful_ one." She whispered. Then she frowned, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears. "A muggle." The way she said it sounded like she had no hope

Hermione tilted her head. This story sounded familiar. She was sure she knew Eileen. Or, well, _of _her. "A muggle? Who was it?"

Eileen shook her head quickly, grin back in place. "Oh, you wouldn't know him."

"You'd be surprised..." Hermione muttered this more to herself than Eileen, but the girl gave her a funny little chuckle.

"You're silly, Hermione." She paused before adding, "He looked to be a year or two my senior. He's not conventionally attractive, I wouldn't say, but I found him wonderful the moment my eyes laid on him."

Hermione couldn't help the soft smile she gave the girl. "Did you talk to him?"

Eileen blushed again. "Goodness no! What would I have said?"

She laughed, taking a turn at stirring the cauldron now that it was almost done boiling. It was a pale yellow, not quite as bright as it needed to be. "Maybe your name! And a 'hello'. How about a 'how do you do?'"

Eileen laughed with her. "Have you ever really fallen for someone, Hermione? From the moment you first laid eyes on them? I can't even think of Tobias without wanting to cry. The emotions just... well up. Does that make me a fool?"

Hermione placed a hand on Eileen's warm one. "Not at all! You're allowed to fall in love. And you know," She leaned back, resuming her stirring with a wicked little grin. "just because he doesn't know you, doesn't mean he wouldn't like you back."

Eileen sighed. "I want to talk to him. I always feel like a proper stalker, though watching him through his windows on long weekends and breaks. But I'm afraid he'll turn me down."

Hermione smiled. "You should try it. Next time you see him outside, walk up and talk about something interesting. Something muggles like."

Eileen stared blankly. "Like... what are they called- microwaves?"

Hermione erupted in giggles. "Probably not kitchen appliances, no. I don't think that would get a good impression across. Introduce yourself first. Then ask his name-"

"But I know it already... I would feel embarrassed."

"How do you know it?" She cocked her head to the side.

"I heard his mother call him. And their family name is on their gate."

"Ask anyway. He doesn't know that you know."

Eileen nodded. "I suppose..."

"Then ask him if he's in school, what he likes to study, if he would like to get coffee with you and talk..."

Eileen blushed. "Imagine that. A date with Tobias Snape."

Hermione faltered. That was it. Eileen _Prince_. Tobias _Snape_.

Severus Snape's parents.

Eileen gazed into Hermione's suddenly wide, sad eyes. "Hermione?" She squeezed her free hand, taking the spoon from her other to continue stirring the cauldron while Hermione came to. "Hermione, are you alright?"

Eileen Prince was madly in love with Tobias Snape, a cold, hard muggle who, sadly, did not love her back. And he never would. What should she say? "I-I'm sorry. I was caught off guard. I remembered something. Something I had forgotten. Sorry." She couldn't look Eileen in the eye.

The dark-haired girl looked at her questioningly. Then she averted her gaze, smiling again. "Thank you, Hermione. I'm glad we're friends."

Hermione swallowed a growing lump in her throat. "I am too, Eileen."

"_Spectacular_!" Slughorn boomed right in front of them, making the girls jump in their seats. "The potion is perfect! Miss Prince, Miss Graves, ten points each to your houses." He nodded with a wide smile and walked around to the other pairs.

Hermione let out a quick laugh, shaking her head at Eileen, who was also giggling. "_Well done,_ Miss Prince." She half-mocked.

Eileen blushed and looked down. "You too, Miss Graves."

Hermione appreciated Eileen stepping out of her comfort zone with her; trying to be friendly and bold. Maybe she _had _made a friend after all.

_And Severus Snape's mother, of all people_.

What would Harry and Ron say?

_Stop reminiscing._

* * *

Potions class went by quickly after they finished. Hermione and Eileen chatted about possible topics Eileen could bring up around Tobias, while Slughorn wandered the class giving points to just about every pair of students for correct conjuring up Murtlap Essence. She did notice, however, that he played favorites. Hermione and Eileen had gotten ten points each, while most other students only received five. Tom Riddle and Alphard, Abraxas and Walden, and Durant and a short, brown-haired boy with the brightest blue eyes Hermione had ever seen received a whopping fifteen points each for their 'brilliant' work, totaling 90 points for Slytherin for the six boys.

Hermione felt very frustrated.

Eileen assured her it did not mean their potion was any less brilliant than theirs. Slughorn's Slug Club members were prized and he treated them as such. Eileen herself was a member, though not a very active one. She was particularly smart, but also awfully shy. One Slug Club member in a group did not get you as many house points as two, though.

After class ended, she excused herself as politely as she could, smiling brightly at Eileen, and hurried out of the room. It was towards the last forty five seconds of Potions that she remembered Tom Riddle was there and he might try to do or say something vile after she ignored him, so she fled. But maybe that was her paranoia again.

Which, as it turns out, was working hard. Tom Riddle did not follow her, nor did he look at her, _nor_ did any of his friends. It was as though she didn't exist to him. So it all came down to paranoia. Again. Perhaps she left her sanity in the 90s as well.

She stopped at the doors of the infirmary. Prior to seeing Headmaster Dippet, Hermione had promised she would come back for a follow up appointment as soon as she could, to make sure the potions were working properly. Her ankle still felt swollen, so the promise was gladly kept. Hermione pushed the doors open and strode in.

* * *

Tom didn't pay her much attention after their meeting at the front table, but at the very end of class, he looked up at the brown-haired girl. She gathered her things into an unorganized pile and more or less ran out of the room. Durant, Abraxes, Walden, and Alphard followed him out the door as he made to leave as well, turning the opposite corner without even sparing her a second glance. She was a strange girl, and not one he'd make an effort to impress.

She, like potions, was hardly worth his time.

* * *

**I'll try my best to update soon! And to make the next chapter, like, eight times better than this one.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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